


Binding

by spooky_blue



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time Bottoming, Khadgar on the bottom, Khadgar on top, LionTrust, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, required sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spooky_blue/pseuds/spooky_blue
Summary: A young, unbound mage is dragged to Karazhan against his will.  The Guardian hatches a plan to bind his magic before someone gets hurt, and Lothar's the only one who can do it.This was supposed to be a proper story, but the smut got out of control.  Oh, and I created this visual aid, too, with a complete lack of skill:  http://imgur.com/a/YAN6T





	1. Chapter 1

Anduin Lothar strode purposefully towards the aviary, keeping a firm grip on the collar of his unwilling companion.  The other man was having difficulty keeping up.  His balance was off from the wrists bound awkwardly behind his back.   He’d been bound and gagged nearly from the moment they’d learned he was a wayward apprentice mage – unkempt, wandering freely through the royal barracks, and no chain to identify who his master might be. 

Khadgar was his name, and he was turning out to be a pain in Lothar’s ass.

He’d spun a good story at first, saying he’d sensed dark magic and traced it, improbably, to the royal barracks.  Things had unraveled when Stormwind’s guards had asked to see some identification.  He had none, it was revealed, save for a dark mark on his arm that appeared to be that of the Order of the Kirin Tor from Dalaran. 

Might have been authentic.  Might not have been.  Lothar wasn’t about to find out the hard way.

Muffled complaints came from behind Khadgar’s cloth gag as he stumbled into a doorframe.   Unsympathetic, Lothar yanked him upright and forward.

As they crested final flight of stairs leading to the royal aviary, Khadgar realize their destination.  Voicing another muffled protest, he jerked at the grip on his collar, then twisted like a fish and flopped heavily to the ground.  Accidentally, perhaps, one of his ankles caught Lothar’s as he dropped, bringing both of them painfully down the stairs.

Lothar was by far the stronger, and readily pinned Khadgar beneath his body at the base of the stairs.  Grinding down with his hips, Lothar grabbed a fistful of unruly brown hair.  Before Khadgar could react, he banged his prisoner’s head against the wooden floor, then slapped him smartly across the face for good measure. 

“That,” snarled Lothar, “Was incredibly stupid.  Were you trying to break both of our necks, or just yours?” 

Khadgar was staring back, eyes gone wide with surprise, and Lothar wondered if he’d ever been slapped before.  Lothar stayed the impulse to do it again.   Khadgar’s eyebrows knit together in frustration and he emitted another strangled sound that might have been a plea.  His hips shifted as he sought to displace Lothar’s weight. 

Lothar frowned.  “Are you hurt?”

The dark head shook.  No.

“What, then?” asked Lothar.  “Scared of heights?”

Khadgar huffed behind the gag, shaking his head again.  No. 

“Fear of flying?”  Khadgar’s irritation was written plainly in his face, but Lothar didn’t care.  His final shred of patience had vanished as he’d tumbled painfully down the stairs.  “Listen to me,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly so that even Khadgar’s dim wits would understand.  “We are flying to Karazhan.”

Khadgar wriggled uncomfortably, and Lothar ground down harder onto his chest in response. 

“This is not a discussion.  The King wishes you to attend the Guardian, and so you will.”  Something flashed across Khadar’s face, telling Lothar the debate was not over, at least from his point of view. 

Heedless, Lothar went on. 

“Have you ever ridden a gryphon before?  There’s two ways.”  His voice had gone deceptively friendly.  “Most people ride astride in the saddle.  It’s a long flight, but if you hold still and hang on, we’ll make it in one piece.”  He leaned a little closer, hard eyes burning into Khadgar’s and his beard almost brushing the other’s face.  Khadgar blinked rapidly, and Lothar wondered if he were listening or planning another resistance.  “Or, you can ride behind.  Trussed like a calf and wrapped in a cargo net.”  Lothar shrugged and leaned back at last, releasing Khadgar’s head from the painful grip.  He grinned nastily.  “Your choice, mage.”

Long moments passed as Khadgar seemed to consider this.  Finally, some of the fire left his eyes and he nodded reluctantly. 

Lothar took this to mean that the resistance was temporarily over and rose to his feet with a grimace.  His wrist had bent uncomfortably during the fall.  Fortunately not his dominant hand, but still.  Khadgar pushed himself upright less gracefully.  His hands, bound behind his back, were mostly useless.  He was rolling to the side and scrambling to his feet when Lothar put a restraining hand on his chest.

“Hold on.”  He reached behind Khadgar’s head, unfastening the gag.  When Khadgar opened his mouth to speak, Lothar made a warning sound. “Tch.  No.  No more talking.  It’s going to be a rough ride.  Don’t want you choking on your own vomit before we get to Karazhan.  But Light help me, if you utter so much as one more word, I’ll choke out you myself.”

Defeat showing in the slump of his shoulders, Khadgar nodded again, and mercifully closed his mouth. 


	2. Two

Surveying the white stone tower rising high into the sky, Lothar felt his heart sinking.  The deterioration had been plain even from the height of gryphon-back flight.  Up close, it was worse.  Although great white lines of magic still crackled up the sides of the tower, vines rambled freely across stone walls that were succumbing to disrepair.  The thatched roof of the stable had collapsed.   Once active and welcoming, the courtyard was now barren.  Ticking the years off on his fingers, Lothar thought it hadn’t been _that_ long.  Karazhan looked like shit. 

What had happened?  Lothar hesitated in the courtyard, musing on days gone past.  Once, he and Medivh were as close as brothers; and yet, six years had passed with no word.  Did the Guardian even reside at Karazhan?  

“I’ll wait here,” said Khadgar, interrupting Lothar’s reverie. He nodded towards the nearby gryphon, looking around the courtyard with a furrowed brow.  “With the bird.”

Lothar sighed.  Khadgar had stayed quiet during the long flight from Stormwind, but distance seemed to have dulled his memory of being ordered to remain silent. Lothar hadn’t wanted to drag the kid mage along, nearly as much as Khadgar had emphatically not wanted to come. King Llane had overruled both their protests. 

Khadgar was presenting a bit of a problem for Stormwind.  As a rule, apprentice mages were indentured under the tutelage of master magi.  This was for their own protection and for everyone else – half-trained mages were powerful and unpredictable.  Khadgar, by his own admission, had rejected his training with the Kirin Tor halfway through.  He’d been found wandering through the royal barracks, purportedly examining corpses without so much as a by-your-leave. 

Khadgar had boldly faced King Llane and declared himself as the Guardian Novitiate…formerly, he’d qualified.  He had a mark on his arm, sure enough, but no apprentice chain.  In Lothar’s mind, that meant he was a fugitive.  Llane was grasping at straws to be listening to the scruffy, half-trained mage.  And Llane’s problems had a way of becoming Lothar’s problems. 

“She’s a gryphon, not a bird,” Lothar corrected sourly.  “Let’s go.”

“No,” Khadgar balked again.  “I can’t.”

This time, Lothar really did roll his eyes.   “Yes, you can.”

“Shouldn’t,” Khadgar qualified.  “I’m unbound.  Magically, I mean.”  Lothar glared.  The kid was practically stammering, he was so nervous. 

It was petty, but Lothar was enjoying watching him squirm.  Khadgar had bluffed his way past King Llane, but perhaps was realizing that he was out of his league.

“So?”

“Someone like me shouldn’t be around someone like the Guardian,” Khadgar explained obliquely.  “Not here.  It isn’t safe.”

“Why?” Lothar raised an eyebrow.  “Afraid the Guardian won’t fall for your horseshit?” He wasn’t sure exactly what Khadgar was babbling on about, but knew his fears were misplaced.  Medivh might be the most powerful mage in the land, but Lothar trusted him implicitly.  “What have you got to hide?”

Khadgar faced Lothar evenly, gathering composure around himself like an offended cat.  “I’m not hiding anything.”  He bit at his full, bottom lip before continuing.  Lothar hated noticing things like that.  There was something distracting about those deep brown eyes and ruddy lips.  He’d already spent too much time pondering the sensations of Khadgar’s arms wrapped trustingly around his chest during the long flight from Stormwind.  Distractions. 

“Trust me,” Khadgar continued urgently.  “He does _not_ want me in there.”

“You should have thought about that before ordering the King to summon the Guardian,” Lothar snapped.  He was determined to not let those beseeching brown eyes have any effect _._ “You’ll go inside and you’ll face the Guardian and explain to him why the King saw fit to send your scrawny ass halfway across Azeroth instead of clapping you in jail.”

“I am _not_ scrawny,” Khadgar muttered, looking like he might continue arguing, but clenching his jaw instead.  The look on his face was pained, as though he were dealing with great stupidity.  Looking over Lothar’s shoulder, he stiffened suddenly.  “Someone’s coming,” he whispered urgently, nodding towards the tower.

Lothar turned on his heel, one hand already half-drawing his sword and then re-sheathing it just as quickly.  He knew that wizened, white head that was approaching.  Heart still hammering from the false alarm, he felt a grin spreading.  “Moroes!” he called, relieved.  “It’s good to see a familiar face.”

The old castellan approached slowly, nodding in recognition.  “Commander Lothar,” he wheezed solemnly, inclining his head respectfully.  “It has been some time.”

“Indeed it has,” said Lothar.  “You look much the same, although I can’t say the same for Karazhan.  Where is everyone?  Is the Guardian…?”

“Much has changed,” Moroes intoned sadly.  “Time takes a toll on us all.”  Ignoring Khadgar completely, he turned back towards the tower.  “Come.”

Lothar and Khadgar exchanged a glance, then followed. 


	3. Three

Karazhan’s master resided, naturally, at the observatory at the peak of the most preeminent tower.  By the time he reached the summit, Lothar was in a foul mood.  There was absolutely no reason that Medivh shouldn’t deign to meet his visitors on a lower floor.  Making his guest climb twenty-two flights of stairs was petty.

Further aggravating was Medivh’s complete and utter lack of concern regarding Lothar’s presence.  Maddeningly, he continued to work on his latest project (apparently the master magi had developed a penchant for sculpture) while Lothar shared the urgent news that had brought him unannounced to Karazhan. 

Simple things like a gutted garrison, attacks by unimaginable beasts, foul magic permeating the streets of Stormwind, leading up to the King’s directive to bring the Guardian back to Stormwind to investigate. Certainly nothing that should interrupt Medivh’s _sculpting_ project, Lothar thought sourly.

Breaking his great silence, Medivh finally turned to face Lothar and ask, “The mage downstairs.  Who is he?”

Lothar stared, breaking off mid-sentence and feeling unbalanced by the abrupt shift in conversation.  Khadgar had been left downstairs and ordered to sit still.  Lothar had taken the precaution of re-binding his hands, at least.  He wasn’t surprised that Medivh had ignored the entirety of his conversation, or that the master magi had sensed a foreign presence in his tower. 

What surprised him was that Medivh was angry.  Sincerely, profoundly angry.  Why? 

“He claims to be a runaway,” Lothar answered slowly.  “From Dalaran.  Of the Kirin Tor.  Llane thinks he’s mixed up in this- ”

“Why did you bring him here?” Medivh glared, interrupting.

“The _King_ commanded it,” said Lothar, emphasizing the title and disappointed to have utilized the King’s name twice in as many minutes.  He’d thought his own friendship with Medivh would carry more weight.  “He thought you should talk to the kid.  Verify his story.”

“What story?”

“He was the Guardian Novitiate,” Lothar replied warily, sensing that his explanations were not soothing Medivh’s capricious mood.  “He was snooping around in the barracks.  Claimed he sensed some dark magic.”  

“And you brought him here?”  Medivh’s voice had gone even softer, which meant that his ire had reached a dangerous level. “ _Unbound?”_

Oh.  Bound?  Unbound?  That was the same term Khadgar had used in the courtyard. 

“Not exactly,” Lothar muttered, not knowing why it would matter. “He’s wearing restraints.”

Medivh shot him a withering look and raised one hand.  When he opened his fingers, blue arcane pulsed from his palm and arched towards the floor, encompassing both of them.  Lothar scarcely had time to recognize a transportation spell before the room faded in a familiar, sickening jolt.


	4. Four

Khadgar was kneeling awkwardly in the library, nose buried in a tome that was half as large as he was.  Oblivious to the pair that had appeared suddenly across the room, his lips formed silent words as he puzzled over the text.  Lothar was wondering curiously how Khadgar was managing to move the book, bound as his hands were, when Khadgar scrambled forward to shift the page with his shoulder.  Part of the massive sheet of paper crumpled under his graceless movement, and Lothar suppressed a grin as he glanced at Medivh to see how he was taking this mutilation of his property. 

What he saw caused him to freeze, his hackles rising instantly. 

Medivh was staring at Khadgar.  His look was feral.  Hungry.  Lothar wasn’t sure why, but he was immediately on edge.  As Medivh stepped forward slowly, Lothar’s hand crept to the hilt of his sword.  Something was wrong.

In a flash, Khadgar had been flung to the side, controlled by Medivh’s outstretched hand.  The Guardian had barely moved, but his arcane power hummed tangibly through the air.  Lothar suppressed a shudder as the magic writhed across his skin.  Khadgar, taken completely by surprise, found himself pressed up against a bookcase with force that was great enough to make him wheeze for air.  His brown eyes had gone wide and round, and he struggled against Medivh’s invisible grip.

“Med.”  Lothar tried to catch Medivh’s attention.  “This is Khadgar.  King Llane wanted you to meet him.” 

The Guardian was not interested in Lothar’s introductions.  Ignoring Lothar, Medivh stalked forward.  His eyes, rather than his hands, dragged slowly across Khadgar’s body from head to toe.  Khadgar stiffened perceptibly under the assessment.  He wriggled, trying ineffectively to squirm away but held firmly in place.  He was transfixed before Medivh like a bug before a spider.    

“Please,” Khadgar begged, sagging against the bookcase.  “Guardian, I…”

Lothar shifted uncomfortably.  Whatever Medivh was doing, it looked indecent.  Khadgar’s body had begun to twitch almost involuntarily.  His chest was heaving, and a deep blush was spreading across his fair skin.  Almost as if someone were stroking across his body… Lothar licked his lips nervously, slowly beginning to pull his sword from the scabbard without knowing exactly why he felt compelled to do so.  Medivh was speaking words in a language that Lothar didn’t know – harsh, rasping sounds.  He seemed to be asking questions of Khadgar, who replied in the same strange tongue and shook his head vehemently. 

“Please-!”  Khadgar turned to Lothar beseechingly.  “Lothar, tell him!”

Lothar crossed his arms impassively.  The Guardian had the right to question the younger mage, as uncomfortable was it was.

Now Medivh moved forward, face to face with Khadgar.  One finger reached out and stroked the smooth, bare skin of Khadgar’s neck, then the hand wandered curiously up to cup his cheek. Khadgar strained to move away from the invasive touch.  Medivh pressed closely, Khadgar’s breathing coming in soft gasps that echoed too loudly across the library.   

“Medivh!” Lothar called sharply.  What Medivh was doing was not proper.  “This isn’t helping.”

Medivh ignored his old friend.  He bent forward, nuzzling sensuously against Khadgar’s neck before pushing his tongue into Khadgar’s mouth.  When two large tears rolled down from Khadgar’s eyes, tightly squeezed shut, Lothar had had enough.  He took half a step forward, not sure how he was going to stop the Guardian. 

Before Lothar had formed a plan, Moroes swept by in a blur.  A large block of wood was in his hands, which he smashed into the back of Medivh’s head.  The Guardian tumbled to the ground in a heap, while Lothar gaped.

Khadgar, released by Medivh’s arcane grip, collapsed to his hands and knees.  Disoriented, gasping for breath, he scrabbled to crawl away and collapsed on Lothar’s boots. 

Moroes was a whirlwind of action.  Lothar had never seen the old man move so fast.  Moroes knelt, prodding gently at Medivh’s prone form.  Turning, he snapped at Lothar, “Carry him upstairs.  Quickly.  He’s bleeding.”

Lothar hastily closed his jaw and bent to awkwardly pick up is friend.  Blood was seeping from a large gash on the back of his head from where Moroes had cracked him solidly with what turned out to be a wooden table leg – probably from the dining room, if Lothar’s memory served him correctly.  Another large bump was forming on Medivh’s forehead where he’d smacked the ground falling forward. 

Moroes grabbed Khadgar by the elbow and pulled him to his feet.  “You’re alright, lad,” he said urgently.  “Do you know any words of Silence? In the higher registers?”

Lothar found this sentence incomprehensible, but Khadgar nodded uncertainly. 

“Good,” Moroes went on.  “Cast the strongest one you know.  On yourself.  Now.”

“On me?  Why?” Khadgar rubbed at his snotting nose with the back of his hand, pushing himself upright.  His breath was still ragged, but he was regaining his composure quickly.  “Not on him?”

“You think you can silence a Guardian?” Moroes snorted.

“Hm.”  Khadgar considered this. “You’re right.  I wouldn’t dare.  I’ll cast it on myself.”

Lothar looked from Moroes to Khadgar, feeling stupid. 

Khadgar shook his head, suddenly.  “Unbind me,” he ordered Lothar, with a pained expression.  “I can’t cast like this.”

Moroes turned to Lothar impatiently. “Yes.  Get those off.  Immediately.”

Lothar hesitated only a moment.  Events were unfolding rapidly.  Medivh attacking Khadgar sexually, or magically, or something in between, was the last thing he had expected.  Perhaps this is what Khadgar had meant when he said that it wasn’t safe for him to be here, unbound as he was.

“Key’s on my belt,” Lothar replied quietly.  “Unlock him, Moroes.”

Moments later, Khadgar gratefully rubbed at his free wrists, stretching his hands appreciatively.  Light flared around him briefly, as he gestured and spoke a word.  He did this two more times before it seemed to take effect, nodding at Moroes to confirm that he’d done as instructed.

“It’s done,” Khadgar said.  He sounded regretful.

“Good lad,” Moroes replied.  “Now get in here.”  Grabbing hold of Khadgar’s elbow once again, he ushered hastily him towards a door across the library.  Jerking the door open, he overruled Khadgar’s weak protests and thrust him inside the tiny room, locking it shut decisively with a key from his belt.   Turning, he fixed a glare on Lothar.  “What are you still doing here?  Get him away.  Up.  Quickly, now.”

Lothar moved into action, heading quickly for the stairs, Medivh cradled carefully in his arms.  Khadgar was banging with his fists, his protests somewhat muffled by the thick oak door.  Lothar hesitated, looking back at the door.  “What about…?” his voice trailed away uncertainly.  “Shouldn’t he be cuffed?”

“He’ll be fine in the broom closet,” Moroes replied, unperturbed as they began climbing up the stairs.  “He cast a spell of silence on himself.  As powerful as that one is, he won’t be doing any spellcasting for a while.”  Moroes actually cackled gleefully at his own cleverness in orchestrating this.  “And that one,” Moroes went on, nodding towards Medivh, whose head lolled weakly in Lothar’s arms, “That one won’t be able to sense him as strongly.  It will give us a chance.”

“A chance to what?”

“A chance to bind him, of course,” Moroes replied, his tone implying that it were obvious.

Shaking his head bemusedly, Lothar followed the wizened castellan.


	5. Five

As they moved slowly up stair after stair, Moroes explained.

Lothar was familiar with the master-apprentice relationship that most orders of magi seemed to have, but never knew why it was so.  Wielding arcane power required great discipline, Moroes said.  Young mages needed years, sometimes decades, to fully develop the discipline necessary to maintain their own control over the arcane.  Binding a young mage to a master was one way to curb his power, shunting some of it off to a more experience mage.  Keeping it under control, from spraying all over the place, Mores said.  “Khadgar is a powerful mage.  He’s begging for a binding and doesn’t even know it.”

Lothar was perplexed.  “Is it sexual?” he asked at last.  “I thought Medivh was, er, possibly, aroused.”  Lothar did not like thinking of his friend in this way.  “Out of control, even,” he finished awkwardly, sneaking a glance to ensure that Medivh was still blessedly unconscious.

“Yes,” Moroes replied bluntly.  “And at the same time, no.  The attraction is there.  But it’s more than that.  It’s a seduction, a connection at a level so base that mere mortals like you and I could never fathom.  All that raw power, there for the taking.”

Lothar sensed more than a little sarcasm in the old castellan’s reply, and patiently waited for Moroes to continue.

“And what’s more, it’s amplified by a place like Karazhan, with magic dripping down the walls.  Someone like the Guardian, so powerful himself, would be drawn like a bee to flames.”  Moroes’ voice trailed away, muttering, “Or a moth to honey.” 

“What would have happened?” Lothar ventured at last, not sure he wanted to know the answer.  “Was he going to…ravage the boy?”

Moroes shrugged.  “Perhaps.  That would be preferable over the alternative.”

“Which is…?”

“The Guardian would have consumed him.”

“…Eat him?” Lothar was aghast.

“No, of course not.” The look Moroes shot towards Lothar was not flattering.  “Consume his soul.  His connection to the arcane.  In a place like this, an unbound mage like that wandering around willy-nilly…disastrous.” Moroes shook his head.

Lothar could not pretend to understand what kind of magical force would make his friend – righteous Guardian of the realm – completely lose his mind and assault a younger, weaker mage.  Uneasy, he continued up the stairs, forcing his burning legs to move as quickly as he could.  “So we have to bind Khadgar to stem this…magical effusion?” he asked.

“Hm,” Moroes replied.  It was supposed to be affirmative, Lothar reckoned. 

“How, exactly?” he prodded.

“Not sure,” Moroes replied evasively.  “Usually mages bind mages.  Not sure we can trust the Guardian to bind this one, even silenced.  Not sure at all.”

Discomfited by that latest revelation, Lothar took the remaining stairs in silence as he pondered his next move.  Perhaps he would send Khadgar back to Stormwind by gryphon, and have Medivh port the two of them directly.  If Medivh woke up well enough to spell cast, that is.  Or maybe he would leave the wayward mage here at Karazhan under Moroes’ watchful eye, although he doubted Medivh would approve of having a powerful, unknown mage wandering through his tower unsupervised. 

This was turning out to be quite a pickle.  Lothar thought ruefully that perhaps he and Llane ought to have listened to Khadgar’s protests after all.


	6. Six

Lothar helped Medivh fall gently into his bed.  The Guardian had come to his senses somewhere in the last half-dozen sets of stairs, and had insisted on walking the rest of the way under his own power.  Leaning heavily on Lothar’s supporting shoulder, he hadn’t said much.

Moroes had gone ahead, and now reappeared with some tinctures and clean clothes.  He set about tending to Medivh’s bumps and cuts.  The gash in the back of Medivh’s head was large, but not dangerous.  He would have a nasty set of goose eggs, but would survive relatively unscathed.

When Moroes had finished, Medivh thanked him gravely.  He seemed exhausted, his face gone tight from the brief encounter in the library and his demeanor much subdued.

Lothar leaned against the wall next to the bed and regarded his old friend.  He didn’t know where to begin.  “I almost clapped you in irons,” he admitted at last, nodding towards the manacles that had previously bound Khadgar.  “Moroes didn’t think it would do any good.”

“It wouldn’t,” Medivh agreed with a small smile.  “Not against a Guardian.”

“Then I’m glad I don’t need to try,” Lothar replied.  The unspoken question between them was whether indeed Lothar would indeed need to try or not.

“No,” said Medivh.  “I am myself.  His presence caught me somewhat…off-guard.  I am sorry you had to see that, Lothar.”

Lothar shrugged uncomfortably.  “Moroes explained.  Raw power and all that.  Said the boy needs binding.”

Medivh nodded.  “He does.  Very much so.  Amplified by the ley lines here at Karazhan, his arcane resonance would nearly set the stones on fire…” Medivh’s voice faltered.  “I loathe to think what might have happened if Moroes hadn’t intervened.”  He met Lothar’s gaze, and Lothar could see the regret written there.

“You would have come to your senses,” Lothar said firmly.  “I know you, Med.  You wouldn’t hurt anybody.”  He hoped that were true. 

Medivh did not reply.

“So,” Lothar asked at last, “What are we going to do about it? Can you bind him, as Moroes suggested?”

Medivh looked surprised.  “Me?  No.  Of course not.” 

“Er…” Lothar responded slowly.  He didn’t understand.  He thought that was Moreos’ plan.  “Moroes seemed to think that…er.” He broke off, seeing the gathering storm growing across Medivh’s brow again.  “And why not, exactly?”

“I’m the Guardian,” Medivh replied, as if this were obvious to anyone that was not a great idiot. “I’m bound to the realm.  I can’t take another binding.”

“Ah,” said Lothar, perplexed.  “What’s the plan, then?  Leave him here while we head back to Stormwind, and then…?” He broke off again.  Medivh was shaking his head.

“Certainly not,” snapped Medivh.  “I won’t have him poking through my tower, taking measurements for when he moves into the place.”

Lothar looked at him askance.  “He did say that he renounced his vows.  He’s not your replacement anymore.”

Medivh was clearly not convinced.  “He’s probably been sent here by the Council of Six to spy on my goings-on,” he continued, not quite raving, but getting close.  “I won’t have it.”

“Well,” Lothar went on patiently, trying to sooth the ruffled Guardian, “I can’t send him back to Stormwind on his own.  He doesn’t have a flight license, first of all.  And secondly, I don’t trust him.”  Lothar shrugged helplessly.  “What can we do?”

“We’ll bind him,” Medivh replied.

Frustrated, Lothar glared at the Guardian.  This conversation was getting circular. 

“I’ll help you,” Medivh went on.  “It’s fairly simple.  When’s the last time you ate?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Lothar, frustrated by the twisting turns in Medivh’s conversation.  “This morning.  Breakfast.  Before the flight.  That was hours ago.” 

“Good.  The same for the boy, yes?  It’s better if you’ve both fasted.”  Medivh climbed to his feet, and began poking through some effects in the nearby cabinet.  “Crushed crystals, we’ll want sapphire, don’t you think?  And feverfew seed, I think should do, although parthenium would be better.  And we have plenty of candles.” He cheerfully passed all these things to Lothar’s bemused hands.  “No one’s really certain if all this frippery is needed for the binding spell, or if it’s ancient tradition.  This isn’t one of the spells that one wants to get experimental with, so we keep on.  Oh, and you can borrow my conjuring robes.”  Medivh did not seem to notice the furrowed look on Lothar’s brow.

“Med.  Stop.”  Lothar put the items down on the bed.  “In case you forgot, I can’t conjure.  I’m not a wizard.”

“You don’t need to be,” Medivh replied.  He clasped Lothar by the shoulder, green eyes meeting Lothar’s blue with unsettling intensity.  “Binding mages to non-mages is rare, but it has been done.  I’ll set the spell.  All you need to do is consummate it.”

“But why…?” Lothar asked, weakly. 

“I can’t do it,” said Medivh.  “Moroes can’t do it.  You’re the only one here.”  When Lothar hesitated, not speaking but clearly not understanding, Medivh continued.  “Moroes is bound to Karazhan as I am bound to the realm.  Lothar,” he said quietly, “You saw me down there.  I lost control.  We need to fix this.  Once he’s bound, his arcane will be dampened by his connection to you.  You’ll be his master, in essence.  It’ll be temporary, of course, until we can get him safely home to the academy in Dalaran.”

“He used some spells downstairs to silence himself,” Lothar objected.  “Isn’t that working?”

“Not really,” Medivh admitted.  “I can sense him without even trying.”

Lothar quirked an eyebrow, skeptically.

Medivh’s face darkened.  “Don’t believe me?  He’s currently locked in the library’s cleaning closet, sulking most likely, because he’d rather be buried one of my books.  He’s been trying to pick the lock for the last quarter hour with nothing but a broom straw.”  He shook his head sadly.  “No, the silencing spell is a very temporary, very weak attempt at damming a stream that is already threatening to overflow its banks.”

“Fine.  What will I need to do?” Lothar asked sourly.  He didn’t like the direction this had taken.  But still, he trusted Medivh’s judgment.  Usually.

“First, you have to agree to it.  Such a spell is only possible when both parties are willing, without any mental reservation, or purpose of evasion.  You can’t take the vow with the intention of usurping his powers,” Medivh explained 

Lothar snorted.  “I have mental reservations about the whole thing.”

“Then, there’s a brief ritual.”  Medivh went on blithely as if Lothar hadn’t spoken, waving a hand towards all the items he’d pulled from his supply closet.  “Mostly ceremonial.  Promises to uphold your fiduciary end of the agreement, and he’ll promise to faithfully submit his powers to your will, until such time as you unbind him.”  Medivh raised an eyebrow.  “Then you’ll complete the union, if you’re both willing, and that’s that.  Simple.”

“Simple,” Lothar repeated.  “Right.  What if _he_ has mental reservations?”

“Considering the alternative,” Medivh said softly, “I doubt he will.”

Lothar swallowed uncomfortably.  Somehow, he had the feeling he was being bamboozled, but couldn’t see any way around it.  “Alright.  I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Medivh clapped him on the shoulder.  “I’ll set the circle.  We’ll do it here, by the font.  You should meditate, if you can, while I make preparations.”

Lothar nodded.  He did not have a good feeling about this endeavor.


	7. Seven

When Khadgar finally appeared at the top of the stairs, trailing behind Moroes, several hours had passed.   Medivh had methodically prepared the ritual area, fussing over the exact placement of his crushed gemstones and smudged feverfew seeds until Lothar thought he would go mad from the mage’s painstaking precision.  Lothar pretended to meditate at first, but when he realized that Medivh was not paying attention, he’d napped lightly instead. 

Khadgar looked haggard.  Lothar wondered what he’d been up to for that time, if he’d been asked to meditate as well.  Had they let him out of the closet, or had he tried to find his inner peace while surrounded by mops and brooms? 

Medivh was nowhere to be seen.  Lothar moved towards Khadgar, trying to hide his uncertainty.  Khadgar’s gaze was resolutely fixed on the floor. 

“So.”  Lothar nodded towards the casting circle.  “You agreed?”

Khadgar shrugged unenthusiastically.  “I would be honored,” he replied tonelessly, dragging his eyes up to meet Lothar’s briefly.  “Considering the alternative.”

Lothar moved away, feeling insulted but not sure why.   He felt like a fool in the ridiculous conjuring robes that Medivh had insisted he wear.  Medivh was not a small man, but Lothar was considerably broader.  The cloth was tight across his shoulders and just a bit too short.  He was hungry, damn it, and ready for this to be over.  What was taking so long? 

Medivh appeared as if summoned, trailed closely by Moroes.  He swept gracefully into the room, looking first at Lothar, then at Khadgar.  He nodded, apparently pleased by what he saw.

Khadgar stiffened perceptibly as Medivh approached, wary from his last encounter.  Lothar got the sense that he was trying not to edge away, and couldn’t really blame him for feeling uneasy.  His own hand was hovering inconspicuously close to where the hilt of his sword ought to be, ready to smash Medivh’s head in again at a moment’s notice.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.  So far, Khadgar’s own silencing spell seemed to be holding his arcane at bay.

“Shall we begin?” Medivh intoned sonorously. 

Lothar looked at Khadgar.  “I’m ready if you are.”

Khadgar nodded woodenly, his face an unreadable mask.  “I’m ready.”

“Then take your places in the circle.”  Under Medivh’s close direction, Lothar and Khadgar entered the ritual space at opposite places from each other. To Lothar’s surprise, the ritual began with a song.  It was a simple, yet haunting tune.  Medivh sung well, with a voice that was well-modulated, if not especially melodic.  He invoked the arcane then, using his greatstaff to trace a complicated pattern in the air.  Swirling, mathematically patterned discs sprung forward in bright arcane blue, fading to a soft light on the ground.

Much of the ritual was a blur to Lothar’s untrained ear, although Khadgar listened attentively.

When the time came, Lothar gave his affirmative response, vowing that he had no mental reservations, or purpose of evasion, and that he would well and faithfully discharge the duties of holding Khadgar’s power.  Likewise, Khadgar solemnly gave his own vow that he likewise had no mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that he would well and faithfully submit to Lothar’s will throughout the duration of the binding. 

When the ritual was complete, Lothar blinked. He had expected to feel something – a flash, a tingle.  Something.  He looked quizzically to Medivh, who gestured back at him significantly.  Oh, yes.  The chain of apprenticeship.  Medivh had given Lothar a simple metal chain, to be fastened around Khadgar’s neck and secured with a small medallion that bore the likeness of a lion’s head.  Lothar didn’t know how Medivh had conjured that up, but it was a fitting sigil for any apprentice of the Lion of Azeroth.  He appreciated the attempted detail, and thought Khadgar would, too.  It would seem more normal for the young mage, perhaps, to wear a chain of apprenticeship.

Lothar approached Khadgar carefully, not wanting to smudge the ritual circle even though he knew it was technically over.  He reached up, ready to fasten the chain around Khadgar’s neck.  Khadgar met his gaze strangely, then pulled at his collar to bare his throat.  Bowing his head slightly, he accepted the chain resolutely, although Lothar noticed that he flinched ever so slightly when the lock was set into place.  There was no key to the medallion.  The chain would remain around Khadgar’s neck as an outward symbol of the binding throughout the duration of the relationship, Medivh had explained. 

Another tradition. 

Khadgar’s eyes were fixed on the ground, but he reached out slowly and took Lothar’s hand.  He hesitated, uncertain.  The hand was ice cold, and Lothar squeezed it awkwardly before disengaging and turning to Medivh.

“Did it work?”

“The binding was a success,” Medivh replied, inclining his head with a smile.  “So far.”

“Good,” Lothar sighed gratefully.  “We should eat something, then head back to Stormwind.  Light knows they won’t give us a chance once we’re there.  Llane will want to brief you immediately.”  He pulled the conjuring robes over his head, discarding them for his more comfortable shirt and breeches.

Khadgar spluttered something incoherent, and turned to Medivh, sounding outraged.  “Guardian! We can’t just leave without completing the ritual.  He still has to-”

“Lothar,” Medivh interrupted gently.  “Khadgar is right.  You must complete the ritual.” 

He was smirking, Lothar realized, and felt his heart sink.  He knew that mischievous glint in Medivh’s eye from days of old.  Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it.  “What?” he asked irritably.  At the edge of his vision, Khadgar shifted uncomfortably.

“The consummation,” Medivh said smoothly.  “You shouldn’t make him wait.  He’s probably quite eager.  Most apprentices usually are.”

Consummation? Did Medivh mean…?  Oh, hell no.  As realization dawned over Lothar, he was suddenly furious.  And embarrassed.  What in the world had he agreed to?  Lothar felt his fist clench into a ball.  “What are you saying, Medivh?” Lothar’s voice was dangerously quiet.

“We fuck,” Khadgar interrupted flatly.  “What the everloving fuck did you think consummation meant?”  He was flushing prettily again, equal parts confusion and embarrassment.  He turned angrily to Medivh.  “You didn’t tell him?”

Silence filled the room, building into a furious crescendo that managed to ring in Lothar’s ears the way sound never could.  Thoughts swirled through his mind in rapid succession, each one just out of grasp.

_I can’t remember the last time I bedded a man.  Or anyone.  We barely know each other.  What kind of barbaric ritual is this?  Is Medivh having me on?_

Lothar knew from the others’ serious faces that this was no jest.  He forced himself to take deep, calming breaths.

_I’m going to kill Medivh.  I’m going to fucking throw him out of his own fucking tower window…._

“What,” Lothar asked bitingly, “will happen if we don’t…consummate the spell?”

Khadgar gave another strangled sound of protest.  He threw his hands up in disgust and stalked towards the window, leaning his head against the frame as he stared through the stained glass patterns.

“Lothar,” Medivh said quietly.  His voice was pitched so softly that Lothar could scarcely hear his words. “If you find him so repulsive, I suppose you are under no obligation to complete the spell.”

“It’s not that,” Lothar hissed.  “You should have told me.”

“So, yes.  I should have.  Would you have agreed?” Medivh was unrepentant. 

Lothar breathed heavily.  “No.”

“Well, then,” said Medivh, shrugging knowingly.

“I’m not fucking him,” Lothar growled, nodding towards the window.  His volume had risen a little, and Khadgar flinched.

Medivh looked towards the ceiling.  “As you wish.  Although that’s not entirely fair to Khadgar.”

“I doubt he wants this either-” Lothar began to retort.

“He does,” Medivh interrupted.  At Lothar’s disbelieving look, he had the audacity to laugh.  “Oh, you still cut a fine figure, Lothar, but it’s not that.  He wants his magic back.”

“What?”

Medivh explained with enduring patience.  “A fundamental law of spellcasting, Lothar.  You can’t undo what you haven’t completely finished.  You won’t be able to unbind him if you don’t complete the binding.  Do you honestly want a half-tamed mage at your heel for the rest of your days?”

Lothar thought this over.  “There’s no other way?”

“Not for secular bindings.”

“Damn it, Medivh,” Lothar snapped.  “Damn it to the underworld.”

“Perhaps we ought to give you some time alone,” Medivh said at last.  “Moroes and I will wait downstairs. Traditionally, a panel would witness and guide the consummation…”  Both Lothar and Khadgar glared at the mention of a witness. 

“Khadgar, can you guide him through the remainder of the ritual?” At Khadgar’s nod, Medivh turned away from the chamber in what could only be described as a hasty retreat.  Moroes vanished closely behind him.

Coward, Lothar thought bitterly.  Rubbing a hand across his beard nervously, he turned to face Khadgar.  “Did you know?” he asked quietly.

Khadgar nodded uncertainly.  “Of course.  You didn’t even consider…?”

“No.” Lothar swallowed.  He paused only briefly before responding.  “We don’t even know each other.”

Khadgar’s laugh was bitter and short.  “Too late. We’re bound.  You’re my master.”

“I can’t do this,” Lothar confessed. 

“You don’t have to enjoy it,” Khadgar responded woodenly.  “You just have to finish.  As do I.”

“Now?” Lothar asked, cursing himself for weakness.

Khadgar shifted uncomfortably.  “I’d rather not wait.”  He looked around the room, eyes falling on a small doorway that led to Medivh’s personal sleeping room.  “There’s a bed in there.  Will that work?”

Lothar found himself nodding. “How old are you?” he asked impulsively, not sure why it mattered.  The boy was clearly over the age of consent.

Khadgar replied in Dalaran style, surprised.  “Three and twenty.  You?”

“Much older,” Lothar replied dryly.  He was relieved.  For some reason, he’d felt as though the boy – no, man, was quite younger.  He had an innocence about him that belied his age.  Still, their ages weren’t so far apart that he had to question his own ethic.

Khadgar breathed out sharply.  “Shall we?”

Bracing himself, feeling all the nausea and trepidation that normally rose before battle, not the bedroom, Lothar nodded.


	8. Eight

Standing close to Lothar, Khadgar stripped methodically.  His body was smooth and unmarked, unlike Lothar’s own, but surprisingly well muscled for a spell-chucker, Lothar thought.  He stood, brazenly naked save for the band around his throat, chin up and daring Lothar to admire the view. Lothar undressed more slowly, loosening the ties at his shirt and waist.  He wasn’t sure that he could go through with this.

After a long moment, Khadgar sat on the edge of the bed, hands relaxed in his lap.  His head quirked slightly to the side, he seemed almost amused.

Lothar forced himself to look at Khadgar.  Really look at him, for the first time.  Plush, reddish lips with just the hint of a beard gracing his cheeks.  A face that was honest, yet reserved.  Deep brown eyes meeting his like a challenge, dark hair falling rakishly towards one eye.  As Lothar felt his pulse quickening, he realized that he didn’t physically object to this.  Not at all.

He moved forward until their bodies met, resting his hands lightly on Khadgar’s thighs.  Bending down, Lothar’s lips brushed against Khadgar’s upturned face.  Tongues met softly, Lothar’s gaze fixated on Khadgar’s face, asking wordlessly, _Is this right?  Do you want this?_ He was surprised by the urgency with which Khadgar responded, pushing hard with his mouth.

He’d probably done this before, Lothar reasoned.  Of course he had. 

Things seemed to be moving too fast.  Khadgar’s hands twisting in Lothar’s hair, hot panting against his cheek, and Lothar found himself lying back on the bed.  His pants have fallen to the ground, Khadgar kicking them out of the way.  Hands, moving deftly across his thighs and pressing against the heat building in his cock.  Lothar was mortified to recognize that the soft whimpering sounds were him, moaning in time to the slow strokes of Khadgar’s grip around his shaft.

He’d definitely done this before.

“Can I ride you from in front?” Khadgar whispered into Lothar’s ear, tugging at the loose shirt that Lothar still wore.  “I want to see your face,” he finished, dark eyes searching Lothar’s face shyly.  “If you don’t mind.”

Lothar’s eyes widened as he realized what Khadgar meant and he swallowed, suddenly nervous.  “I, um.”

Khadgar pulled back, earnestly assessing him for a moment.  “Or from behind?  Do you want…?” His voice trailed away, suddenly uncertain.  “You _have_ done this before, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” Lothar replied automatically.  “Um.  In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.” Khadgar looked at him flatly.  “You don’t bottom?”

“I haven’t,” Lothar replied honestly, wondering why he felt himself reddening.  There was no shame in it.  It just wasn’t his preference.  “But I can,” he found himself amending, seeing the crestfallen look on Khadgar’s face that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. 

“Traditionally, the apprentice would go first,” Khadgar explained softly.  He ran his hands experimentally across Lothar’s chest, unconsciously, feeling the ripples and sinews that moved just under the skin.  “It’s a display of strength for the master to wait for his finish.”  His stroking was something between sensual and comforting.  Lothar suppressed another groan as his touch moved lower again.  “We can do whatever you want, though.  It doesn’t have to be penetration.”

Lothar almost sagged with relief.

“But it is tradition.”  Khadgar’s eyes crinkled with sudden humor. 

Lothar battled with himself.  The kid obviously wanted it, and knew what he was doing.  It would only be fair.  His eyes dipped down below Khadgar’s waist, lingering a little too long.  He nodded.  “Go for it.”

Khadgar was already moving, sliding down to position his face between Lothar’s legs.  “May I...?” he whispered. 

Assuming he knew what would follow, Lothar nodded.  Khadgar gently pushed Lothar’s legs up and apart and bent close.  He kissed the soft skin of Lothar’s inner thighs, trailing across the skin in some pattern known only to himself.  Gentle kisses turned to licking, then sucking, as Khadgar explored every space with his lips and tongue.  When the hot wetness slid gently across Lothar’s opening, his hips jerked reflexively in response.  Khadgar lapped shallowly at first, his tongue moving up and down across, then more deeply as Lothar relaxed, one hand rubbing rhythmically around the head of Lothar’s cock.

Lothar felt the waves of pleasure moving across his body, moaning into the sensation and pushing back against the pressure on his sensitive opening.  Khadgar clambered up awkwardly, now using his fingers to gently stroke the area.  Everything seemed wet and dripping, and Lothar realized belatedly that Medivh must have given some supplies.  Khadgar was pressing, questioning, guiding. 

“Roll over,” Khadgar whispered at last.  “It’s easier your first time.”  Hands were on Lothar’s hips, helping him move into position.  His head down and back end up, Lothar felt silly and helpless and desirable all at once.  A new sensation dragged across his skin, and he realized that Khadgar’s slicked cock was rubbing between his buttocks, pressing firmly without attempting to penetrate. 

“You are so fucking hot,” Khadgar groaned helplessly.  “This fucking body.  I can’t even.”  He bent forward and kissed Lothar’s shoulder, something between biting and sucking as he worked across the skin.  When he finally entered, gently, it was his finger, moving oh so slowly and Lothar shuddered in response.  It didn’t hurt, but it did.  It was uncomfortable, yet arousing.  He wanted more, he was almost begging for it, when Khadgar slipped inside.

“Ahhhh!” Lothar yelped, unused to the sensation, suddenly not sure, not wanting it-

“Stop fighting,” Khadgar whispered.  “Put your shoulders down.  Breathe.  Are you breathing, Lothar?”  Dragged back to the moment, Lothar struggled to slacken his body, breathing deeply and letting the new sensations pierce through his body.  “That’s good,” Khadgar soothed.  He was moving slowly, gently, letting Lothar’s soft whimpers guide.  Then faster, hands gripping Lothar’s hips, Khadgar’s body arching, crying out, _oh fuck,_ collapsing, trembling across Lothar’s back.

Lothar felt as though he’d approached his limits but not surpassed them, surprising himself by thinking it was over too soon.  He rolled over carefully, examining Khadgar’s sweaty form.  His chest was heaving, covered in a light sheen, and his dark hair had gone even more rumpled. 

Khadgar laughed suddenly, eyes crinkling again.  “So fucking good-”

Lothar stopped his mouth with a deep kiss, then another.  Pinning Khadgar’s smaller frame with his own, he bit hungrily at the reddish lips and flushed face.  Reaching below, he realized that Khadgar must have lubricated himself.  He was wet and dripping, ready for Lothar. 

Khadgar smiled shyly.  “I don’t usually bottom, either,” he confessed.  “Be gentle.”

Lothar was not sure he had the self-control.  His cock ached painfully, weeping cum from the head as he surveyed the naked body splayed before him.  Pulling Khadgar to the edge of the bed, he held his knees high with one hand and used the other to guide the tip of his cock towards the opening.  Then he was inside in one smooth motion, carefully, but causing Khadgar to gasp prettily and arch as he moved deeply. 

“Shit shit fuck, more, oh fuck,” Khadgar moaned steadily, revealing that he probably bottomed more than Lothar had.  “More, more!”  His hips were bucking lightly in response to Lothar’s deep strokes, filled to capacity that was demanding and powerful and filled with want.  Then Lothar’s body was writhing with pleasure as he finished, hot white sensations splashing through his mind as he emptied himself into Khadgar.  Weakly, he pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Khadgar.

When he could think again, Lothar realized that Khadgar was propped up on an elbow, staring at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he confessed.  “I tried.  It’s been…a long time since I tried that.”

Khadgar shrugged gracefully.  “Thank you, Master.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Lothar replied, suddenly uncomfortable.  “I’m not your master.”

“But you are,” Khadgar smiled. “You can call me apprentice.”

Lothar pushed himself up.  “Did it work?  Is the ritual complete?”

Khadgar nodded relaxedly.  He was utterly calm and serene, for the first time since they’d met.  “Yes.  Can’t you feel it?”

After considering this for a moment, Lothar realized he could feel it.  He could feel something.  He wasn’t sure what it was.  Somehow, he was aware of Khadgar.  He blinked fuzzily.  A warmth seemed to radiate from Khadgar, like a warm ray of afternoon sun.  “I feel…warm,” he said at last.  “Is that you?”

Khadgar nodded.  “We’re connected,” he said.  “You feel like cold steel and summer grass,” he added softly.  “You feel like home.”

“Oh.” Lothar felt, not for the first time, that he was suddenly in far over his head.  Reluctantly, awkwardly, Lothar looked for his clothing.  He wanted nothing more than to lie next to this strange, sweaty creature who had shared the most intimate of moments with him, but duty called.  Azeroth awaited. “We should let the Guardian know.”

“Trust me. He knows,” Khadgar responded dryly, moving to find his own clothing.  “Who do you think that raven was at the window?”

Lothar whirled toward the window, spluttering in outrage, only to find Khadgar laughing into the back of his hand. 

“Just kidding,” he grinned.  “But he would know the instant the ritual was completed.  My magic won’t be…er…spraying around anymore like a bitch in heat.”

Lothar found these shifting moods mercurial, and he watched Khadgar carefully through the edge of his vision as they dressed.  “I don’t even know you,” he said at last. “I don’t know anything about magic.  I’m not fit to be your keeper.”

“It’s okay,” Khadgar nodded.  “It wouldn’t be my first choice, but it won’t be forever.”  He patted Lothar’s shoulder soothingly.  “I can’t promise to be an easy apprentice, though.  That’s kind of the opposite of what I do.”  Now dressed, he tugged on his cloak and boots and moved for the door.  “We should go.”

Lothar stifled another sigh.  Yes.  They should go.  For one fleeting moment, he’d forgotten all his cares.  King Llane.  The threat of war.  A dysfunctional Guardian.  Somehow, all of that had gotten lost in the twin pools of Khadgar’s deep brown eyes…with a shudder, Lothar pulled himself together.  He was far too old to be losing his head over a quick fuck. 

But still.  Him, a master?  With an apprentice?  Watching Khadgar’s dark head receding down the hall, Lothar had the strangest feeling that he could get used to this. 


End file.
